Come Away
by apollinax
Summary: Five years ago, Sarah Williams refused the Goblin King for the second time.
1. Chapter 1

Author's notes: This is a homage to my longtime love of all things Labyrinth. I apologize in advance for all the Irish/Celtic/Welsh myths I will be butchering (ahem…borrowing); I do my best to be accurate, but I'm definitely not a mythology expert. I also owe a great debt to Subtilior, NecessaryObjects, Pika la Cynique, and everyone else in the Labyrinth fandom who has brought Jareth and the underground to life. Many of the elements of this fic were inspired by the work of others, though I hope that I've created something original here. Feedback and criticism are always welcomed and very much appreciated.

Ch. 1: The King

It was Sarah's first winter in New York City. Central Park glistened under a blanket of snow, and she wandered aimlessly through the twisting footpaths, enjoying the stillness. She had been in the city six months and she still felt a bit claustrophobic, surrounded by the tall buildings and grit and bustle. It made her feel itchy, somehow. Sarah had never lived in a city and she had expected it to be a grand adventure. But to her surprise, she found herself missing the tranquility of her parent's little suburbia, the quiet that settled in at night and the sight of tall trees out the front window.

Not for the first time, Sarah wondered what on earth had possessed her to become a lawyer. After the Labyrinth, none of her fanciful daydreams really seemed compelling. It was hard to be swept away in a dream of princes and ballrooms when she had lived it. And it was hard to dream at all when her flightiness had nearly gotten her brother killed. So Sarah had packed away her bears and dolls and toys and put up sensible posters of nature scenes. She read fantasy sparingly, and only when it wouldn't interfere with real life. She became practical, dependable and utterly normal.

Karen was delighted. And Sarah herself was content. A part of her still wanted to dream the day away, but her sensible side won out. At least, it usually did.

When the black-gloved hand tapped her on the shoulder, Sarah didn't even jump. Ever since the Labyrinth, Jareth had visited fairly regularly. He would appear in some completely incongruous place, talk about nothing in particular and leave just as abruptly as he had come. As Sarah grew older, Jareth had become more daring. He strutted, he flirted, and more than once he came perilously close to touching her. But he never crossed the line, and there had been no renewal of his offer from the Labyrinth. Sarah told herself that she should be grateful. Life as the Goblin King's possession held no appeal for her, even if by some miracle he should still want her.

"Enjoying the snow, my Sarah?"

She wrinkled her nose.

"Don't call me that."

"But the look on your face…"

Sarah tried to shove him, but as usual he was too fast for her.

"How do you like the city?"

She sighed.

"It's...different, I suppose. Noisy. And the lights are so bright that you can hardly see the stars. But it's alright. I have a nice flat, and I like my new boss."

Jareth had been walking beside her. Now, suddenly, he stopped. Feeling unaccountably nervous, Sarah turned to face him. She swallowed. He wore the usual boots and poet's shirt, but his jacket today was white and made of something soft. It made her want to burrow in and shut out the world. With a will, Sarah dragged her eyes away from his chest and tried to focus.

"What was that?"

Jareth rolled his eyes.

"Do try to pay attention, Sarah." She suppressed a shiver at the sound of her name. "Sarah…" He paused. Unaccountably, she though, the Goblin King looked nervous. "You could see the stars whenever you wanted, my Sarah. If you wished it."

It took Sarah a moment a moment to process what exactly he was saying.

"Oh, no. No, no, no. We are _not_ doing this again, Jareth." She looked at him to see if he had been joking after all, but his face was inscrutable.

"If by 'this' you refer to that disastrous moment in the labyrinth, I heartily agree." Sarah breathed a sigh of relief. "But this is not the labyrinth, and you are not a girl any longer. There is no need for tricks here."

He waited expectantly. Sarah slowly backed up.

"I don't know what you're asking."

He cocked his head, his eyes knowing.

"Don't you? I think you do." He stepped closer, so close that their faces were only inches apart. "They weren't the right words last time. Close, but not right. 'Fear me, love me, do as I say.' Not words to inspire passion, are they?" Sarah shook her head mutely. "Your kind says it much better. 'Love, honor and obey.' "

Sarah gave a strangled squeak. She put up a hand and then dropped it quickly when it rested against the soft white jacket.

"You can't marry me."

"Why ever not? "

Sarah paused. A thousand answers flew through her head, but somehow she ended up blurting out the one she didn't want to say.

"Because…because you don't love me!"

Jareth smiled. It wasn't his usual sarcastic smirk. It was gentle, and wistful, and held just the slightest bit of something underneath that made her shiver. She had never seen him smile like that before.

"Sure of that, are you?"

Sarah valiantly tried to gather her suddenly scattered thoughts.

"Of course you don't love me. You can't. You're this immortal king who shows up for a laugh at the crazy mortal when things get boring. You're probably supposed to marry some perfect princess with long flowing hair and have tons of little Goblin Kings." She paused. "Besides, who ever heard of the handsome faerie king who married the lawyer? The Brothers Grimm would never forgive you."

Sarah attempted a smile, but it felt strained. He just couldn't love her. It was impossible.

"I am sure marriage to a perfect princess would please my dear mother immensely. But I do not want a princess, my Sarah. I want you."

Sarah gulped. For once, the Goblin King wasn't beating around the bush. She held up a desperate hand.

"Wait. Just…wait. How do I even know you're real? I mean, I'm talking to you, but maybe I'm just crazy. Everyone else seems to think so. They can't even see you." She waved a hand out to indicate the park, and the other walkers who were giving Sarah a wide berth as they edged around her on the path. "Maybe I've finally snapped, and I'm actually comatose in some hospital—"

Jareth made a noise that sounded remarkably like a growl.

"You are not in a coma, Sarah. I assure you, I am entirely real, and I am asking you to marry me."

Sarah stood still and simply blinked at him. She was definitely dreaming, she decided. This was far too impossible to be reality. Cautiously, she reached out a hand and poked at the decidedly solid-looking chest in front of her. Jareth arched an eyebrow.

"Precious, I understand the sentiment, but don't you think a public park might be a trifle…exposed?"

Sarah squeaked and tried to yank her hand back, but Jareth was too fast. He held her hand in both of his, leather-gloved fingers languidly tracing their way over her bare palm. Sarah felt a blush rise in her cheeks and tugged again.

"Jareth, I think you misunderstood. I never meant-"

For the first time, Jareth began to look the slightest bit angry.

"So all this," He gestured sharply between them , "was a game to you? You liked having the mighty Goblin King as your personal pet?"

"No! No, that's not what I meant at all." Sarah closed her eyes and took a deep breath. There was a tight knot in her stomach, and she felt almost like crying.

"Jareth, we're friends. You're probably the only real friend I have now. But you never even tried to kiss me! I mean, if there was anything between us, something would have happened already, wouldn't it?"

Sarah winced. She hadn't meant to say all that. Jareth abruptly let go of her hand, and Sarah had a moment to feel relieved before he stepped even closer.

"Nothing between us?" His voice lowered intimately. "Precious, I assure you, had I cared to try, you would have been mine years ago. And you wanted it. You wanted me to kiss you, touch you-"

"Stop it!" Half-hysterical, Sarah shoved at him, but his grip was unrelenting. More gently he went on,

"I have waited. All these many years, I have waited. You wanted to grow up. It was only fair to let you enjoy this world of yours, before you came to mine." He paused, their faces inches apart. His eyes were soft, and almost…pleading? Slowly, as if he was waiting for her to jump away, Jareth raised one gloved hand to her cheek. He let it rest there for a moment and murmured,

"I could give you everything. Everything you ever wanted, do you understand? This isn't a joke, or a trick. I want you. And I would make you happy."

Sarah swayed into him, nearly hypnotized. Everything she had ever wanted…she had no doubt that he could give it to her. And what reason had she to refuse, really? Deny it though she would, the magic of the Labyrinth still called to her, though the memory of her fateful visit had long since become faded and worn. She wanted that world. She wanted the hidden doorways and the sparkling crystals and even that ridiculous bog. And most of all, Sarah realized with a little shock, she wanted to be loved by the Goblin King. Perhaps she always had.

Sarah opened her mouth to answer. Slowly, something that Jareth had said began to sink in.

"You want me."

"Yes." His face was more vulnerable than she had ever seen. "More than anything."

"Is that all?"

He looked puzzled.

"What more is there? I want you, and I will give you everything." His face turned slightly derisive. "I assure you, my Sarah, you will never have a better offer."

Sarah took a deep breath. All at once she felt as if she were standing on the edge of a very high cliff. _You have no power over me. _She never could take what she was given, she thought bitterly.

"The book said that the king had fallen in love with the girl. Is it true, Jareth?"

Jareth's two-toned eyes widened a little and then narrowed.

"It was a story, Sarah. Of course the king fell in love."

Something in Sarah twisted. Had she always known that it would come down to this? She hadn't ignored Jareth's advances all these years out of some misguided nobility, she realized. It had simply been self-preservation.

"I need to know, Jareth. Is it true?"

His hands came up to grip her shoulders, hard enough to leave bruises.

"Look at me, Sarah. Look me and say you don't want me."

Sarah looked. It was like looking into the ocean, deep and dark and utterly inscrutable.

" Tell me the truth."

His jaw clenched, and Sarah knew with horrible certainty that he was going to lie. And when he did, everything between them would shatter to ashes.

"It was a story, Sarah. Nothing more. If you hoped for something that I cannot give, then I am truly sorry."

Dear God, Sarah though, he had actually told her the truth. There was silence between them, then. Neither of them had any idea what to say. Finally Sarah managed,

"I think I always knew. You want me, but you don't love me. I don't even know if you can."

"Does it matter so very much? You would forget, eventually. It is the way of the underground."

She gave a half-laugh that sounded more like a sob.

"But I would always know, wouldn't I? Don't you understand? Somewhere, I would always know."

"So this is your answer? You would give up your dreams for this?" Jareth swept out an arm to encompass the frozen park, the leaden sky and the dark peaks of the buildings. "Heed me, Sarah. Walk away and you will regret it the rest of your long, long life."

"I know."

They stared at each other in silence, and Sarah's heart twisted at the hope in Jareth's eyes. He still though that she wouldn't leave him. Sarah leaned up on tip-toe and brushed a kiss, light as a phantom, across the Goblin King's cheek. It was the first time that she had ever touched him voluntarily, and Jareth's mouth curved in surprised pleasure. Before his arms could come up to hold her, she stepped back.

"I'm sorry, Jareth." She knew it was pathetic, but the man had just broken her heart. Saying anything more would undo her. Sarah turned and walked away, and she did not look back.

A week later Sarah woke up to find a necklace on her pillow. The tiny, perfect crystal hung from a silver chain that flowed like water through her fingers. Sarah could feel the magic vibrating beneath her fingers, pleading. _Make a wish_. She opened her mouth to call out for Jareth and clenched a fist over her mouth before she could say the words. Instead, she sat on her bed and cried for a very long time. She did not think that she would ever see the Goblin King again.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: Waters and the Wild

Just after dusk on Christmas Eve, Sarah Williams shoved open her front door and nearly fell through. Juggling her keys in one hand, groceries in the other, she set everything down in the entry and heaved a sigh. She kicked the door shut and just stood still a moment, reveling in the knowledge that she had absolutely nothing to do. No urgent memos, no pending briefs, no irritated senior partner yelling that she should have been at the office ten minutes ago. For two perfect days, she was free.

Sarah took off her winter coat, shook the snow off of it and hung it near the door. Her little Christmas tree twinkled at her from the corner. Sarah knew it had been madness to buy a real tree for a New York apartment, but the smell of fresh pine needles had always reminded her of Christmas. Besides, Toby was coming tomorrow, and he hated the fake trees. Apparently they reminded him of Karen.

Sarah winced a little at the thought of her father's wife. Karen hadn't been the wicked step-mother of Sarah's childhood fantasy, but she had never cared much for Sarah or Toby. Karen was spending a romantic Christmas in Ireland with Sarah's father. She shouldn't be hurt, Sarah told herself, that she and Toby hadn't been invited. Her father was entitled to spend Christmas with his wife, and Sarah was perfectly able to take care of herself. At least, Sarah though, her father had remembered to send a present.

Sarah checked her messages and smiled at Toby's excited voice. At twenty, he was very much an adult, but Christmas always brought out his inner four-year-old. Apparently he was catching a late plane from Los Angeles and landing at JFK in the morning. Sarah had already promised to pick him up.

Sarah slipped off her shoes in the middle of the kitchen floor and unearthed a bottle of wine from a cupboard. She filled a glass, then padded over to the little living room and curled up in a chair. She would watch some mindless television, get a little tipsy and go to bed early. Sarah reached for the television remote and paused, indecisive. Every year, she told herself that she wouldn't go. And yet… this was her one indulgence. She paid her taxes, worked like a demon and didn't even have time to take care of a cat. For one night each year, wasn't she entitled to pretend? Involuntarily, Sarah though of Jareth and felt a twist of guilt. This wasn't a betrayal, she told herself. She would dance, enjoy herself and probably be home before dawn.

Before she could change her mind, Sarah set down her wineglass and stood up.

***

The dress she chose was dark blue, in a diaphanous fabric that caught the light and shimmered. She chose flat silver sandals that she knew she could dance in and let her long, dark hair hang loose. Sarah usually hated dressing up for events. It was tiring to mingle with her fellow attorneys and their well-dressed clients, making witty and meaningless conversation. But tonight her only audience would be strangers, and she enjoyed the myriad little rituals of preparation. When she finished, her keys and cell phone went into a little beaded bag that matched the dress. After a moment of painful indecision, she went to her jewelry box and slipped Jareth's necklace into her bag. It was just a precaution, she told herself; it didn't mean anything at all.

It took Sarah the better part of an hour to find a cab. Manhattan was frantic, filled with families rushing off to church services and couples coming home from romantic dinners. Every so often one cab would nudge the bumper of the other and both drivers would jump out, cursing and creating an even larger traffic jam. When she was nearly ready to give up, a cab made a daring plunge across three lanes of traffic to stop, screeching, at her curb. With a sigh of relief Sarah slid into the passenger seat. The cab smelled of smoke, cheap perfume, and, strangely, primrose.

"Where to?"

The driver's accent was strange for a New York cabbie. It sounded like Irish, or perhaps even Welsh. The lilt made even the terse question sound oddly charming.

"Bethesda Terrace, please."

The cab driver looked at Sarah as if she were insane.

"You from out of town? Central park's closed."

"I'm going to a party nearby."

"Why don't you just give me the address for the party, then? Central Park's dangerous at night, especially for a lady,"

Sarah's head snapped up. For a very brief moment, he had sounded distinctly like Sir Didymus. She looked closer. The cabbie was absolutely unremarkable. Brown hair, brown eyes, not handsome, middle aged. It was just a coincidence, she assured herself. She hadn't seen her Underground friends for many, many years. They hadn't forgotten her, exactly. It was more like they had…faded. She had become busy, and they had started visiting less and less, until she suddenly realized that they had stopped coming at all. Sarah had told herself that it was a part of growing up. After all, only little girls believed in fairy tales.

"Just Bethesda Terrace, please."

Sarah engaged in a brief stare-down with the incredulous cabbie, but he finally dropped his eyes and nodded.

"Fine. But I warned you, didn't I."

The cab lurched through traffic for a time and finally rolled to a halt at the corner of 72nd street. Central Park stretched before her, a vast expanse of dark, bare trees swaying in a fitful wind. The cabbie tapped her shoulder.

"See, there's nothing here. Whatever this party is, you've got the wrong address." He reached forward to put the car in gear, but Sarah shook her head.

"I know where I'm going. Really, I'll be fine."

He looked at her for a long moment and Sarah thought that perhaps his eyes glittered a bit too brightly in the low light. With some unease, she groped for the door handle and pushed the door open. When she tried to shove a crumpled bill into the cabbie's hand, he grabbed her wrist.

"_Come away, O human child. To the waters and the wild._"

She knew the poem, of course. She had loved Yeats ever since she was a flighty teenager dreaming of ballrooms, and his Faerie Child had always been her favorite.

"Are you ready to abandon this world, Sarah Williams?"

"Who are you? How do you know me?"

"You are somewhat infamous, my lady. You are also very naïve. You think tonight is a game, do you? A fun little Christmas party where you flirt and dance and come home before dawn?"

"I take care of myself. And I know the rules."

"Do you? Perhaps the rules have changed."

Sarah took a deep breath.

"Did Jareth send you?"

"Jareth." He gave a dry laugh. "On familiar terms, aren't you? I imagine he would kill me if he knew I was here. Fortunately, the Goblin King is otherwise occupied tonight. You would be well advised, my lady, to amuse yourself with some other party tonight."

"What do you mean?"

The cabbie smiled, showing a hint of very dark, very pointed teeth.

"The Goblin King is going to choose a bride."

It took Sarah a few moments to entirely comprehend what she had just heard. Really, she told herself, she shouldn't be so surprised. Jareth was a social creature, and he had been alone longer than she cared to imagine. Of course he would seek companionship. And if he couldn't fall in love, Sarah was sure that he could still make a woman very happy. She really shouldn't care.

"Who is she? Who is he marrying?"

"It will be announced tonight. At midnight, they say."

Sarah looked at the little glowing clock on the dashboard. It was half past eleven.

The Goblin King had been her friend. He had very nearly been her husband. Tonight he chose someone else, and Sarah didn't think she had the strength to walk away. She put her chin up and looked her strange cab driver in the eye, telling herself that she had absolutely no right to feel betrayed. After all, she was the one who had left.

"I'm leaving now. Thank you for your…advice."

She would see the Goblin King one last time, and know that he was content. Perhaps then she would finally stop dreaming of him.

Sarah turned away and slid through the open door of the cab, out into the freezing night. The cab driver watched her with eyes that had turned the color of grass in the moonlight, but he didn't follow. She squared her shoulders and stepped out into the dark, toward the trees.

***

Sarah walked without regard for where she was going, knowing that the path would find her. As she walked, the branches parted before her, and she heard music, lilting and eerie. Sarah had been told once that people passing by the park on the night of revel saw only darkness, and heard faint, strange whispers of unspeakable things. Sarah hadn't asked what happened to anyone who dared to investigate. The music grew louder as she walked, and abruptly, the path spilled out onto a Bethesda Terrace that no mortal had ever seen.

As any true New Yorker knew, Bethesda Terrace was without question the heart of Central Park. The vast, flat expanse of the terrace overlooked the Lake, black and still now with the chill of winter, and the wooded Ramble beyond. As she had for a hundred years, the Angel of the Waters presided over the center of the terrace, wings spread and face uplifted. The bronze had been cast before the turn of the century, commissioned by a city that was already taming the sky with buildings and hurling great bridges across the water. Tonight, the angel's wings riffled as if in a breeze, and strands of hair blew across her face. She presided over a dancing, whirling gathering of creatures decidedly not of the world Above.

Sarah recognized some of them. She saw gwrahedd annwhyn, fairies of the lakes, with their ragged grey hair and milk white eyes. On the other side of the clearing stood a gwyllion, a mountain faerie with skin hard as rock and just as cold. Ellyon strode through the crowd, distinguished by their height and their glittering eyes. At a distance they looked something like Tolkien's elves, with long, straight hair, pointed ears and high, slashing cheekbones. But their eyes had slit pupils like a cat, and their faces bore strange markings in dark, bleeding colors. The first time an ellyon asked her to dance, Sarah had nearly turned and fled for her life. She had once heard a goblin comment that, of all the creatures in the Other world, the ellyon were the most difficult to control.

As this was a revel, there was of course no shortage of food and drink. Fruits that she had never heard of were piled high along the edges of the terrace, glistening red and orange and black in the flickering light. She saw bread, pies, and some sort of dark meat that shuddered as if were still alive. Golden cups were being dipped into liquid that smelled of honey and cloves and made Sarah feel faintly ill.

Sarah caught her breath as she saw the flash of a bright head through the crowd. She craned her neck, trying to see if it was Jareth, but the crowd was too thick and she couldn't be sure. When the head turned toward her, Sarah stood very still.

She had never seen one of the bean righean na brugh, the great Faerie Queens, but she had no doubt that she was looking at one now. The creature staring at her with inquiring eyes had silver hair that fell past her waist, tangled wildly with leaves and branches and strange gems that glowed with black fire. Her face was narrow and very white, and her lips were as red as wine. _Snow white_, Sarah thought inanely. But this was no virginal girl from a Hans Christian Andersen tale. The Faerie Queens had fought and died for their kingdoms, and those who had survived were fearsome indeed.

A brief look of what might have been recognition passed across the smooth, pale face before the Faerie Queen turned away. Sarah slumped like a puppet released from strings. No few of the Others regarded mortals as amusing playthings, and she would just as well that such creatures took no notice of her. Sarah wondered briefly if the Queen had known her, but dismissed the idea almost at once. She was a nobody. If the tale of her misadventure in the Labyrinth had ever been told, it must have long since been forgotten.

Sarah watched the crowd for nearly another hour, waiting for Jareth, but she saw no sign of him. The strange cab driver must have been mistaken, she thought, and told herself firmly that she had no right to feel disappointed. When one of the dancers reached out to pull her into the throng, Sarah didn't resist. If she could not forget him, she would at least forget herself until morning.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: If certain parts of this chapter seem overly cliché, they're meant to. Apologies for the excessive evil villain-ness. Hang in there. And tiny, sparkly jareths go to all reviewers. Review, review review…pretty please??

Sarah had no notion of how long she danced. The music caught her up and bore her away. The drums urged her onward with a relentless rhythm, and the trilling pipes spun tales of dreamers and traitors and chases over dark water. She was spun by the rough hands of trolls and dipped by ellyon who sneered and watched her with unblinking, burning eyes. Tiny wings skimmed against her cheek as she whirled, and feathery tendrils like vines brushed about her feet. She was passed from one dancer to another, pushed and pulled, until the glittering stars wove together and she had forgotten the meaning of all that she knew.

When the music stopped, Sarah dragged her eyes open with an effort of will. The dancers stood still as death, and Sarah saw with a sudden rush of unease that every eye was fixed upon her. As the crowd backed away slowly, Sarah realized that she was standing in the center of the square, in front of the angel. She touched a finger to her lips and felt the stickiness of wine that she had no recollection of drinking. When she turned around, something that was most definitely not Jareth stood before her.

Sarah took an instinctive step backward. The creature's face was at once Jareth and not Jareth; it was Jareth as could have been, perhaps, if he had forsaken all vestiges of humanity. It was cold and proud and somehow dead, and the eyes were flat and silver like coins glistening beneath water. His brow was crossed by a thin circlet of gold, and he wore a kind of robe of unrelieved gray, as if all the color had been leeched out of the world. She had once told Jareth that he looked like a fallen angel. This man looked like Hades himself, and Sarah had the sinking feeling that she had just been cast as Persephone.

When he reached out a pale hand, she flinched back. Something indefinable crossed his face as he reached out again to swipe a single gloved finger over the dark stain on her lips.

"Sarah."

He said nothing more, but simply watched her, his eyes dark.

"Who are you?"

The creature facing her smiled.

"Why, my dear, do you not know me? I am the Goblin King."

Sarah inhaled a sharp breath.

"No, you're not. Jareth is the Goblin King." Her voice shook as she said it.

The Goblin King smiled gently.

"Come now. You played games with a king of the Other realm and conquered him, and you refused his dreams even as he begged. Did you truly not believe there would not be consequences?"

"Where is he?"

"Never fear, my dear. Jareth is alive and well. Even defeated, he is powerful." A brief look of distaste crossed the pale face. "But he is beyond the reach of dreams, even yours. He will not be reclaiming his throne, and you will not see him again."

Sarah clenched her fists and fought the urge to rage and scream at the implacable creature before her. _Not everything is as it seems._ She had found a baby in the centre of a labyrinth, against all odds. If Jareth was alive, she would find him.

"I'm mortal. You can't keep me here."

"You ate of goblin fruit, my dear. Do you not remember?" _The peach_, Sarah thought. Of course. "You have not been truly mortal for a very long time. You are ours now; more precisely, you are mine. " His eyes undressed her slowly, caressingly. "Jareth may not have chosen wisely, but he chose well. You bested his Labyrinth and thus you are worthy to rule. Given the proper incentives, you will make a most satisfactory queen."

"No!"

The word burst out of her, revulsion and fear and longing twined together into something that was more plea than demand. It couldn't happen like this. It was enough that she loved a man who could felt nothing but distant affection for her. She could never be kept as a prize by this creature with Jareth's face. Sarah thought she saw the green eyes of her cab driver in the crowd, watching her with a mix of resignation and pity. The Goblin King's head tilted inquiringly.

"No? So soon you have forgotten. The Goblin King is the Deceiver, the Erlking, the King of Dreams. You will see whatever I wish you to see and never know the difference. What do you want, Sarah? A house by the sea, perhaps, where you can dream the day away? And Jareth, of course; or whoever you dream of. "

Sarah thought of the ballroom dream and felt more than a little panic. Jareth had almost surely placed the clock in that dream to help her remember. Without it, she knew, she would have willingly whirled across the floor in his arms forever.

"I…I can escape from the dreams."

"Ah, yes. The ballroom; I had forgotten. Sarah stared, shocked. He had forgotten…how had he ever known? Sarah thought of Jareth laughing as he told of the flighty little dreamer who imagined herself a princess, and felt a wave of betrayal.

"You once said that your will was strong, my dear. Let us see how strong it truly is, shall we?"

The glittering silver eyes were the last thing Sarah saw before the world abruptly faded.

_She stood on a rise, a strong wind pushing at her back with the sharp smell of salt and coming rain. Almost painfully bright green hills piled atop one another into the distance, speckled with the small white dots of sheep and striped with broad swaths of purple heather . Beyond the hills, the sea was gray and restless. Sarah had the sudden thought that if she jumped, she would fly out over the hills and sheep and heather, out over the sea and into the distance to a place that she had once known and forgotten. But she belonged here, she knew, and she would not leave. _

_The man who came up beside her was tall, with light, tousled hair and very blue eyes. His face was arresting and very nearly pretty, and a huge, long-haired sheep-dog followed at his heels. The dog butted Sarah's legs gently and she obliged it with a thorough petting. "Forgotten something, have you?" The man raised an eyebrow, his eyes laughing at her. Sarah tossed her head and deliberately turned her back. "What could I possibly be forgetting?" There was a sound very like an annoyed growl from behind her, and when strong arms slipped about her waist, Sarah smiled and did not even think to protest. "Always a tease, my Sarah. Your husband walking the hills these long hours, and you not even knowing him gone. Aren't you going to welcome me home, precious?" He lowered his head until his chin rested atop her hair, and Sarah relaxed into the familiar warmth and closed her eyes. _

With a jolt she burst free of the dream. Pale, spidery hands held her close, and hair brittle as fallen leaves scratched against her cheek. Sarah pushed the Goblin King away with a cry and raised a hand to her mouth, choking down bile.

"I would really much prefer not to do that, but I will if I must. You could have dreamed for a century, my dear, and never known the difference. You have a very active imagination. It is curious that Jareth did not simply reach out and take what was offered. But then, perhaps he truly did lack the power."

Sarah had no doubt that Jareth had possessed the power. Even when he was Above, the magic had been like a live thing wrapped around him, a sharpness to the air that tugged at her with gossamer threads. In Central Park that day, she had arrogantly though that he still had no power over her, that he hadn't pursued her because he could not. What a fool she had been. Sarah didn't want to think about what it meant, that Jareth had let her go when he could have ensnared her forever. She had to find him.

The Goblin King reached for her left hand. He held a ring of dark gold between his fingers, and it glowed dully red in the moonlight. It took Sarah a long, horrified moment to realize that the ring was hot as a brand. She turned to run but the crowd pressed in upon her, eager hands and feet and claws shoving her toward their king, and there was no way out. Sarah thought frantically. _You wanted to be an actress, Williams. _She thought of Jareth's necklace in her purse, and the look on his face when she had kissed him. She shoved the Goblin King as hard as she could, and screamed.

As a child, Sarah had nearly driven her step-mother mad with her screaming. When Sarah threw a tantrum, she would scream so loudly that Toby would cover his ears and cry, and neighbors would call the police to report a domestic disturbance. Karen later told her that she had feared Sarah would do herself an injury. The sound pierced the clearing, high and sharp and utterly human, and the crowd backed away and shifted in consternation. The Goblin King reached out for her, but Sarah kicked and punched and scratched, and felt a vicious satisfaction as she felt her nails catch on the Goblin King's papery cheek. He struck her across the face and her head snapped back. Sarah saw black and tasted blood, but she did not stop fighting.

Her right hand grabbed the clasp of her little clutch, and Sarah nearly sobbed as it refused to open. _I wish, I wish, I wish_…the power of the crystal called to her, sensing her desperation, but it could do nothing. With a cry of rage, the Goblin King threw her to the ground. Sarah landed hard and felt something in her wrist twist sharply, but now both her hands were free, and she wrenched the clasp open. A vicious kick to her side left her breathless and gasping, and Sarah found herself on her back, staring up at constellations that she did not know. Her fingers brushed the soft silk of the clutch's lining and her hand at last closed into a fist around the necklace.

"I am beginning to see how you defeated Jareth's precious labyrinth. You certainly are…persistent. A commendable quality, but it will need to be controlled."

He reached down and pulled her to her feet, gently as a courtier. Sarah swayed and barely managed to keep her balance. He reached for her left hand again and stroked her fingers slowly, one by one, up and down. The touch burned icy cold.

_Take me to Jareth_. She did not say it; she didn't have to. As the power rose up to take her, the last thing she saw was the Goblin King's strangely triumphant smile.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Apologies for the very late update, and thank you everyone for your very kind reviews so far! Reviews are better than chocolate…and that's saying something ;) Highwayman!jareth was inspired by the Alfred Noyes poem of the same name, and the Loreena McKennit song setting it to music. For those of you who noticed, I stole a few phrases from the poem. Kudos to everyone who knows which ones! I also snuck in yet another reference to Yeats. Enjoy! As always, reviews are very, very much appreciated.

Chapter Four: The Doors

Sarah felt herself land on something hard and cold. The fall jarred her wrist and for a moment she saw black. When she opened her eyes, she found in the centre of a vast sea of grey stone. A vaulted ceiling soared above her, higher than the highest cathedrals, and the hall stretched on in front of her so far that she could not see an end, as if it dropped off the edge of the world. In the stone walls to either side of her were peaked windows of wavy green glass, bathing the hall in a pale and sickly light.

Sarah stood shakily and took two tentative steps forward before tripping gracelessly. She looked down, startled, and then gaped. There were doors set into the stone floor. Beneath her feet , stretching across the endless floor of the hall, there were doors. They were not whimsical, or pretty, or even magical. There was a black door with graffiti and _keep out_ scrawled in a child's writing, in red like blood. There was a spotless bright green door with a shiny silver knocker and a neat address in curving script. There was a scratched wooden door papered with a collage of ragged magazine clips, Madonna and Johnny Depp and David Bowie in tight silver pants.

Sarah felt cold. These were doors to the world above; to neat little houses in the suburbs, cold city sublets, villas in the countryside and tents under bridges. _It's not fair!_ Sarah wanted to scream it. The magic had taken her to Jareth as far as it could; Sarah felt it. But if Jareth was somewhere behind this infinity of doors, her mortal life would be long spent before she found him.

Sarah looked down at herself. Her feet were bare, the pretty silver sandals gone in her frantic escape from the Goblin King. Her blue dress was in shreds, and tiny blue scraps drifted toward her feet like strange snowflakes. Her side still burned from the Goblin King's kick, and her breath came sharp and fast. It had been all she could do to stagger to her feet.

She had the momentary, hysterical thought that she was Alice, fallen down the rabbit hole in her pretty white pinafore into an Englishman's mad dream. She felt… brittle, as if she would snap and fly apart into mirror-bright shards at the slightest touch. And the memory of the revel pressed in upon her, the glistening fruit and leering faces and the Goblin King's glowing ring. Sarah knew that she was very close to curling up in a corner until her mind took her back to her empty little flat in Manhattan. She couldn't, she told herself. Were their positions reversed, Sarah knew instinctively that Jareth would come for her. She could not leave him.

_The way forward is sometimes the way back._ The doors would take her back to the world Above. But would it truly be her world? Or would it be something…else? She looked around the endless hall again, but there was no escape except the endless doors.

In the end Sarah chose a plain white door with a pretty pink border. A child's door, decorated perhaps by doting parents whose daughter wanted ballet lessons and a white pony. It seemed the least threatening, and she knew that Jareth had chosen to visit a dreaming child at least once before. Sarah ignored the little voice that told her she was missing the point entirely, and that nothing worth finding was ever hidden in plain sight. She wasn't being a coward, she told herself. She was simply being... practical.

The door opened out before her without even a squeak, exposing an opening in the stone that was black and fathomless. Knowing she would balk if she thought about it, Sarah stepped through.

***

She had been right; it was a child's room. The little iron bed frame was decorated with curling vines and covered by a ruffled pink duvet. The shelves on the wall held dolls and books and a glass unicorn with a mane picked out in gold. There was a rocking horse in one corner that looked well-loved, and a sequined costume dress with fairy wings crumpled in a corner. She looked around, but unless the Goblin King was hiding under the bed, the room was empty. The disappointment was nearly crushing.

"Hello, Sarah."

The man stepped out in front of her from nothing, and Sarah froze in stunned amazement before throwing herself at him.

"Jareth!"

She fisted her fingers in his ruffled shirt and held on, and unceremoniously buried her face in his chest. It probably wasn't seemly to use Jareth as a human pillow, but at this moment Sarah didn't much care. She had been so afraid…it was nothing short of a miracle that she had found him behind the first door.

"It's…it's all right. Please don't cry."

His voice was soft, almost hesitant. When he patted her head gingerly, Sarah felt a trickle of unease. Even when he begged, Jareth managed to sound arrogant. And he stroked, he strutted, but he never, ever…patted. Sarah pulled back to look at him and saw the familiar high cheekbones, the wild hair and the glittering eyes. Perhaps his mouth looked a bit softer than usual, and his face less harsh, but Sarah told herself that it understandable. He had been imprisoned by a monster, and rescued by the girl who had twice refused him. He could be forgiven for being not quite himself.

"I…I missed you."

Sarah wanted to say more but she wasn't sure if he wanted to hear it. She searched his face for traces of anger, or regret, and saw nothing but calm regard. Jareth smiled gently and carefully disentangled her fingers from his shirt.

"Of course you missed me. I didn't mean to be late. But I'm here now. You needn't worry any more."

Sarah stared at him, confused. Late? And he spoke as if he had rescued her. Perhaps he did not remember? It would only make sense, Sarah realized, if the other Goblin King had interfered even if this. He could not very well reclaim his throne if he did not even remember it. Carefully, she said,

"Jareth, don't you remember? There was…there was another Goblin King. He must have done something…"

"Jareth? My dear, who do you speak of?"

The man before her cocked his head, confused.

"Jareth, this isn't funny. I…I know you must be furious." Sarah looked down. "I deserve it. But can we at least…talk?"

"I do not see what is humorous." He shook his head slightly, dismissing her. "Come, sit. It's well past your bedtime."

"I'm not a child, Jareth! I don't need-"

"Of course you aren't a child, my dear. Sit, please. Would you like a story tonight?""

He smiled gently, patiently. Sarah searched his face for signs of deception but saw none. She had wished many times, somewhat guiltily, that Jareth could be kinder, gentler. She saw now that she had been a naive fool. If this was his idea of joke, Sarah thought, she would kill him. Without her permission, the question sprang to her lips.

"Who are you?"

"Why, Sarah, you know me. I am the Goblin King."

As he said it, the image in front of her…flickered. For a breath Sarah saw a grey-haired, middle-aged woman in a slightly wrinkled suit, an overstuffed purse hanging from one arm. She blinked, and the image faded. The Goblin King picked up a silver hairbrush from the pretty white vanity, and Sarah flinched away as if it were a snake hurled by a gloved hand. Unceremoniously, she turned on her heel and ran from the room.

***

Sarah found herself sprawled once more on the cold stone of the hall, flushed and panting. The disappointment threatened to crush her, but to Sarah's surprise, her rising fury was stronger. And as it had many years before, the anger gave her wings. Not for nothing, Sarah thought grimly, were mortals feared in the Underground for their ungovernable emotions. Though it was not spoken of, sometimes Sarah wondered how many fae were happily ensconced in pretty houses in the suburbs with their doting mortal brides. She would find Jareth, if she had to search for an eternity. From the corner of her eye Sarah saw the black door, the red _keep out_ taunting her. Recklessly, she strode to it and tugged hard on the doorknob.

This time, she found herself was standing on the side of what appeared to be a dark road. Sharp stones dug into her bare feet, and winter wind cut through her dress and tore at her with greedy fingers. The moon was full and high, and the stars were so clear that she must be very far from any city. On either side of the road, there were darker shades of black that might have been bushes or hills. Sarah shivered violently. This was no child's room that she had ever seen. Where was she?

Sarah heard the hoof beats long before she saw the horse. The sound of horseshoes on the road seemed to beat in time to her thudding heart, tearing the darkness apart and echoing. The horse came toward her at a gallop, black on black, and the moonlight twined in the flying mane and turning it to silver. Atop the horse was a dark shape, but whether it was a man or a monster Sarah could not tell. A cloak unfurled behind him, twisting and turning in the wind like a tortured sinner. Sarah stumbled back with the vague thought of running. Before she could, the horse and rider were upon her.

The rider could not have been more different from the gentle fop in the child's room. Ruffled lace cascaded under his chin, and his coat was the color of blood. His right hand held the reins, and his left held a pistol of the type that Sarah had only seen in period dramas. Sarah's mind balked at the incongruity of the Goblin King holding a mortal gun. His eyes glittered in the moonlight, blue and green, and his face burned in the darkness like a brand. It was, inevitably, Jareth's face. He stopped before her and held out a hand, and his voice rang like bells.

"Hurry. They are coming."

Still half-stunned from his abrupt appearance before her, Sarah looked at him dumbly.

"I…what?"

He shook his head impatiently.

"There is no time. Give me your hand, now." Sarah heard it, then. There were hoofbeats on the road, many and drawing closer. Sarah took a wild guess and assumed that these riders were not friends of the Goblin King.

"Give me your hand!" His voice snapped like a whip. Part of Sarah was rightly terrified of flying through the night on the back of a black horse, with a mad Goblin King for companion. And strangely, part of her was…not. Very, very slowly, Sarah held out her hand.

Effortlessly, he lifted her and swung her up in the saddle before him. Then he spurred the horse. Sarah could hear nothing but the relentless echo of the horse's hooves and the howl of the wind, see nothing but the darkness rushing past her cheek. She gasped, but could not hear the sound. Her long black hair flew out behind her, lashing the Goblin king's cheek. When the crack of a pistol sounded over her head, Sarah wrapped her hands in the horse's mane, holding on for dear life. Thanks to lessons she had begged for as a child, she was a tolerable rider, but proper English dressage was never meant for chases down country roads. When she looked back, men in red coats spread out on the road behind them, riding three abreast. Sarah realized that they were shooting.

The Goblin King's grip on her waist tightened and without warning he turned the horse in a wide half-circle. Sarah lurched to the side and screamed instinctively, and would have fallen had the Goblin King not hauled her back into the saddle. And then they were racing toward the riders. More shots flew past her, and Sarah felt an icy burn as one of them kissed her cheek. The riders drew closer.

Sarah knew that she should want to close her eyes, but she did not. The shock of excitement was as surprising as it was unexpected. And a traitorous part of her whispered, _You must remember this_.

The Goblin King must have been shooting, for one of the red-coated riders abruptly tumbled to the side, followed by another. The horses, half-mad, reared and shied, and the other riders scattered. Sarah and the Goblin King flew past them, and Sarah was shocked to hear her cry of triumph rise with his. Her heart pounded in her ears to the rhythm of horse's hooves,

The riders made as if to follow, but the Goblin King turned once more and reined in sharply, facing them. Sarah could see the white of their eyes in the moonlight. In apparent agreement, the riders turned and fled down the road, into the darkness. The silent night closed in about them.

Clumsily, Sarah slid off the horse. The drop was longer than she had expected and she nearly fell to her knees. She was shaking violently, but whether it was from fear or excitement or from the bitter cold, Sarah did not know. The Goblin King regarded her with unblinking eyes.

"Ride with me." His grin was reckless and mad, and not the slightest bit human. "We ride to Knocknarea, over the grave at Clooth-na-bare. The night flies before us but we shall catch her, precious. Ride with me." He said it like a mantra, and something traitorous in Sarah rose to answer. She could simply ride…ride, until memory slipped off into the whistling wind and there was nothing but the night before her and the hunt behind, forever.

_One day, precious, I shall find that you've gone away Below on some mad quest, never to return, and I shall have to move the stars again to find you. And you will laugh, and toss your hair, and say it is an adventure. _The memory came very suddenly, making her throat feel oddly tight. He had seemed so serious when he said it. Sarah, in her neat black suit and practical pumps, had sipped her latte and laughed.

Jareth had always known what she had not, that something wild lurked within her, demanding freedom at whatever price. He had accepted it, perhaps because he knew he had no choice. Sarah wondered now what it had cost him. But he had been wrong, she thought. The price of some dreams was too high.

"Who are you?"

Sarah knew she had to say the words, and she ignored the prick of regret. She could not, would not forsake Jareth. Not even for her dreams.

"I am the Goblin King."

He withdrew his hand, and turned the horse away. Sarah stood very still as horse and rider moved away from her, down the road in the moonlight. When they had vanished from sight, she turned away and walked through the door she knew would be there, back to the hall of grey stone.

***

Sarah did not open another door. Instead she stood still, staring at the sea of doors around her. She was missing something. Nothing was ever as it seemed Underground. She had known that, once upon a time, but she had…forgotten. _I am the goblin king I am the goblin king I am… _A thought niggled at her, something about wishes and dreams, and doors. It didn't make sense, she thought. They couldn't all be real. Or could they?

Slowly, inexorably, the pieces clicked into place. Of course, she thought. Once again, she had been a fool. It made perfect, terrifying sense. They were all the Goblin King, all of them and none of them. Everyone dreamed of a different Goblin King, and the magic obliged them. She had seen the little girl who dreamed of a mother to tuck her in at night, the boy who dreamed of highwaymen and chases and adventure. She knew without looking that there would be a doting husband behind the pretty green door, and a dangerously sexy but safe boyfriend behind the Madonna poster and the David Bowie clipping. The Goblin King was a creature of dreams. It was fitting, then, that he was whoever, whatever you dreamed of, and nothing more.

Sarah crouched on the cold stone and curled in on herself, rocking a little. She wanted to cry, but the tears would not come. She had been so sure, she thought. She had been so very, very sure that her Jareth was real. He had laughed at her, and flirted with her, and talked with her about a thousand tiny, inconsequential things.

_Do you know, Sarah, if you wanted a Christmas tree, I could have easily obliged. There was no need to travel to this…place_.

_It's a tree farm, Jareth_. _Lights, hot chocolate, Christmas cheer._ _You could at least try to get into the holiday spirit_.

_Precious, I assure you,I am quite willing to partake of this holiday spirit. Repeatedly. You need only choose a more…comfortable…location. The pine needles could be painful, you know…_

_Just for that, Jareth, you're carrying the tree. _

Sarah clenched her fists in her hair, willing the memories to stop. That was the point, wasn't it? She had dreamed of someone dangerous, someone seductive, someone who turned her little mortal world upside down. And she had gotten exactly what she wished for.

_Not exactly_, something in Sarah whispered. For she had wished with all her heart that he would love her, and it had not been enough. Perhaps, just perhaps, there had been a fragment of something real after all?

Sarah closed her eyes. The tears came then, fast and silent. _Make a wish…_ the magic tugged at her unexpectedly, and with all of her love and fury and heartbreak, Sarah did as she was told. She wished for the real Goblin King, if there was such a thing, be man or beast or angel. She knew very well that she was wishing for a creature that might well kill her, or take her away, or simply make her forget she had ever existed. She did not care.

When Sarah opened her eyes after an interminable time, the doors in the floor were gone. There was only one door now, at the end of the long hall. Hope and terror warring furiously within her, Sarah walked toward it.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N. Whew. This was fun, but kind of wrenching to write. Rating has gone up to M, just in case. Here there be smut…nothing too graphic, but apparently my inner fangirl could no longer restrain herself. Sad, I know. As usual, I have butchered (err…borrowed) poetry. T.S. Elliot this time; it seemed fitting. Once again, thank you all for your very kind reviews. It's awesome to know that people are actually reading this and enjoying it. Constructive criticism/any kind of feedback is always very welcome (which means that I spend far too much time stalking my in-box and squeeing over all your wonderful reviews!). Even just a 'hey, nice story' makes my day.

Chapter Five: The Hollow Man

There was a stairway behind the door. It was like something from a medieval castle, a narrow corridor of crumbling stone beneath an arched ceiling, steps slick with moss and stained with something dark like blood. Sarah supposed it would not be a proper fairytale without a stairway. She though involuntarily of castles and thorns and red lips beneath glass, and hoped fervently that Jareth would be in a better state than Sleeping Beauty.

_Kiss me, precious, and make it better_

_You have a paper cut. You need a band-aid, not a kiss. _

_You forced me to unpack boxes. This is entirely your fault, and I demand recompense. _

_And whose fault is it I had to move in the first place? The landlord said I had teeth, Jareth. And claws, and red eyes. _

_He was looking at you. Inappropriately. _

_Oh, for the love of-I'm not even going to respond to that. And stop looking at me like that. I am _not _going to kiss your finger. _

_Sarah…_

_No. Not even if you were in a glass coffin for a hundred years, and I meant it. _

Tentatively, Sarah placed one foot on the first step. She half expected that the world would shatter as it had when she defeated Jareth's labyrinth. But absolutely nothing happened. With a deep breath, Sarah began to climb.

At the end of the stairway there was another door. It was plain wood, but there were strange twisting signs etched crudely around the edges. Sarah wondered if the signs were keeping something in or keeping it out. Either way, they caused a cold fist to tighten in her chest. Was she Pandora, come to unleash the furies unknowing upon the world? What if the Goblin King, whatever he was, was never supposed to be rescued?

Sarah would have liked to say that the risk was too high. But she was a selfish girl and always had been. Perhaps there was something wrong with her, that she put the fate of a fairytale creature who might not even be real over the entire world Above, but Sarah did not care.

When she put a hand to the door and pushed, it opened without a sound. Bare feet padding softly over the cold stone, Sarah stepped inside.

The room was small and circular. The ceiling was high and vaulted, with twisted carvings that Sarah decided not to look at too closely. There was no furniture, only a small pile of fabric in one corner that Sarah thought might be blankets. She stepped toward the center of the room and turned in a slow circle. Her heart nearly stopped when she saw him.

He was slumped on the floor, beneath a narrow casement window that looked out over the peaks of high mountains. Sarah's first thought was that he was real, that it hadn't all been just a dream, and for a moment she was nearly incandescent with relief. Her second thought was that the Goblin King was dying.

Sarah stepped closer very slowly. She had never seen this Jareth before. She knew instinctively that he had not wanted her to. He was wearing black pants that looked like they had been through a war and nothing else. His hair was still blond, but it was very long, a river of gold flowing over his shoulders and half-way down his chest. It lay limp and perfectly straight, as if it no longer had the energy for anything else. There were still markings on his face, but they were dark as paint and ran like the tracks of tears.

His ears were sharply pointed, and Sarah saw with a thrill of trepidation that his ungloved fingers were tipped with something like claws, silver and wickedly sharp. He tossed restlessly as if in a nightmare, and the claws retracted like a cat's. Tiny, glittering threads seeped from bare skin into the floor below, twisting and turning as they fell, as if the stone was absorbing him piece by agonizing piece. On his bare chest, in the very center, the shape she remembered from his pendant made a black mark like a brand

Sarah made a little noise and ran forward, kneeling beside him. His whole body was trembling violently, although the chamber was comfortably warm, and he was horribly thin. He was murmuring something over and over in a language Sarah did not understand.

Sarah laid a careful hand on Jareth's cheek, heedless of the glittering threads, her fingers brushing the marks beneath his eyes. His skin was burning hot. His eyes moved rapidly beneath closed lids, and Sarah shuddered to think what he might be dreaming of. She had to wake him up, she thought. Wake him up and hear him scream at her, curse her, and then maybe she would somehow find a way to help him.

"Jareth." She stroked her hand down his cheek a little and repeated his name. He stayed stubbornly still. "Jareth. I need you to wake up, now. You're sick. I…I think you might be dying, but you can't, not like this."

Sarah lowered her head until it rested on his bare shoulder and brought both arms around him, praying that she wasn't hurting him. _Please._ She repeated it, over and over, helpless to stop. _Please wake up, please don't leave me, please open your eyes and tell me I never should have come here, please…_

"Sarah?"

He said it so softly that she thought she imagined it. Then his hand came up to bury itself in her hair and she knew she had not. Sarah stayed perfectly still in her half-embrace, not wanting to frighten him. His fingers ghosted over the top of her head, then down her cheek and across her eyelashes, soft as one of his feathers.

"Sarah."

His voice was hope and relief and something else that Sarah did not quite think she wanted to name yet. If she did, it would prove something that she had half-suspected since the beginning of this mad quest, and it would undo her.

"Lovely Sarah. Stay with me." His voice was a caress, soft and dreamy, and unguarded as she had never heard it before. "You left, precious. You hid in dreams and plaited stars in your hair, and I could not find you. You left me hollow and burning in the black, and the stars were far away. " He moved as if to bring one arm around her, and subsided with a grimace. "So bright…the first time I saw you, gold and quicksilver, longing for the magic with everything you were.

"I would have taken you anywhere, bright Sarah. Anywhere you wished. Do you remember me? The supplication of a dead man's hand, under a falling star. But this is the dead land, the twilight kingdom, and you cannot come here, not even in dreams."

He broke off, and Sarah tried to hush him through her own tears. He was hallucinating or dreaming, or perhaps both. She raised her head from his shoulder and looked up him, feeling utterly helpless.

When Jareth's eyes snapped open she could not say a word. They were dreamy and unfocused, fire under misted glass.

"Sarah."

His hand tightened in her hair and pulled her closer, and then his mouth was on hers and to Sarah's complete shock, he was kissing her. His lips brushed hers once, twice, as if unsure. A tiny part of Sarah remembered that she was supposed to be helping him, not taking advantage of him. The rest of her didn't care. When she made a soft, encouraging sound into his mouth, he growled. It was not a human sound; she felt it vibrate in his chest and shuddered, but not with fear. Then he moved.

Sarah found herself pulled to settle in his arms, and he was below her, around her, everywhere, dear god, and she could only call his name like a prayer. When his mouth came down on hers again, he tasted like despair and magic and night scattered with stars, and it was incandescent. One hand was still buried in her hair, but the other had come up to cradle her face, keeping her still for his kiss. Sarah would not have moved for all the dreams in the world.

They were pressed together now, chest to chest, and Sarah's tattered blue dress was the only barrier between them. His skin was hot, burning, and Sarah was burning too, caught up in fire and fathomless eyes. His spun-gold hair fell around them in a curtain, Rapunzel waiting in the tower, the miller's daughter spinning straw into gold until morning, and she had guessed his name.

"A ghrá. A rún mo chroí." He gasped the words desperately between kisses. They sounded important, Sarah thought, but she was too far gone to really listen.

"Please-"

Without warning he shoved her away, and Sarah stumbled back to land hard on the stone floor before him. She lay half-stunned, watching with something like terror as awareness slowly crept back into Jareth's eyes. Sarah wondered for a wild moment if meant to kill her where she lay. But he only looked at her, and somehow that was worse.

"You naïve, stupid little fool." He had never before spoken harshly to her, not really, and Sarah recoiled as if struck. "Plucky Sarah, riding on her white horse to the rescue. You thought you were being brave, didn't you? Saving the poor Goblin King from a horrible fate. How dare you?" His voice rose to a shout. "How dare you come here, of all places, where I cannot save you?"

Jareth slumped back, gasping, and Sarah thought she saw bright red at the corner of his mouth. Of its own volition, her hand reached out for him uncertainly, but he shoved it roughly away. He coughed for what seemed like an interminable time. Finally, when she was truly beginning to panic, he seemed to regain his breath. When he looked like he would try to talk again, Sarah shook her head vigorously.

"No! Just sit still. Don't talk." She started to stand up, but his hand closed about her wrist and tugged. He still felt far too warm. Sarah wondered a little hysterically if there even were doctors in the Underground; the Fae were said to never fall ill. He tugged again, and Sarah reached out and gently disentangled his fingers.

Struggling to think clearly, she murmured, "I'm not leaving. I'm going to get blankets, and I'll be back." She almost added _stay here_, but it was painfully clear that Jareth wasn't going anywhere. When she returned with the sad little pile of blankets she had seen in the corner of the room, she draped them carefully around him, trying not to hurt him. She stood for a moment, not knowing what else to do, and then slowly lowered herself to sit beside him again. He hadn't stopped shivering. With what looked like considerable effort, he turned to face her. He still looked utterly furious.

"Leave, Sarah. Now. I will not ask again."

"No. Not this time." _Not ever again_.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Sorry this took so long!! I just got done with finals week of doom in RL, and have decided I am never going to be a tax lawyer… long story. Aaaaanyway, here it is. As usual, reviews are cherished and given a very very welcoming home, and thank you so much to all of you who has reviewed and alerted so far. You all keep me writing!

Chapter Six: What They Wished For

Jareth's sounded as if he wanted to wish her away to the most vile bog imaginable. Sarah would have been hurt, if not for the expression of ill-restrained terror on his face. The Goblin King was not ever meant to look so frightened. Resolutely, Sarah settled back down beside Jareth, her shoulder just brushing his through the blankets.

Very cautiously she asked, "What happened?"

Jareth didn't reply. Not knowing what else to do, Sarah hesitantly told her own tale, of the strange taxi driver and the monster at the revel and the Goblin Kings behind the doors. When she finally finished, Jareth's eyes were closed tightly.

"Who are you?" Sarah blurted it out before she could stop herself, her heart in her throat. _I am the Goblin King…. _She prayed fervently that he would not say it. She was very nearly positive that her Jareth wasn't simply a wish come true. He was arrogant and passionate and cruel and very much _not_ mortal, yet at the same time he seemed far too human to be a fragment of a dream.

Jareth opened his eyes to look at her, and his mouth quirked into something more grimace than smile.

"I am the eldest son of Fibarrah and Aebhoael. I am of the Tuatha De Danaans_, _the Children of Dana, gods and not gods who are unfading. I have been the _Ars Ri_, the guardian of the doors, and my kingdom is no more."

Sarah made an incoherent sound, light-headed with relief. _He was real_. He was Jareth, _her _Jareth, and…

Abruptly, something he had said began to sink in. _Ars Ri._ Roughly translated, it meant High King. The High King of the Tuatha de Danaan, the Underground. She vehemently wished she had not been fool enough to enroll in an Irish mythology class during her ill-considered stint as a starving English major. Sometimes, ignorance was much more convenient.

"You're…you're their king. I never knew." Sarah though of some of the things she had said to him over the years, about duty, and responsibility, and lazing in a messy castle kicking goblins, and felt a bit ill.

"I was."

Sarah watched him for a moment, trapped in castle tower with only a foolish mortal girl for company.

"I can help." She blurted it out before her sense caught up to her mouth, and Jareth rewarded her with a glare. "I can help you, I mean, escape this thing. If you're really a king, there must be someone who can help…"

She trailed off as Jareth reached out and snatched her wrist in an iron grip. His eyes were bright and despairing, and very cold.

"Look."

Sarah looked down at their joined hands, and gaped. Iridescent, nearly invisible threads bled from her hands, her arms, everywhere, twisting and curling to fall into the stone floor. She reached out to touch one of the threads, disbelieving. It brushed against her skin in a whisper kiss and fell off her finger…no, fell _through_ her finger to the floor. How had she not noticed? Sarah shuddered. She raked the nails of her other hand across her outstretched palm, hard, and did not stop until Jareth tugged sharply on her wrist.

"Stop. It will not help." He said it more gently than she probably deserved, and Sarah looked at him helplessly.

"I—what is it?" Watching the threads turned her stomach, but she could not seem to tear her gaze away. Was this how Jareth felt, bleeding to death without feeling, without a sound? Jareth reached out, then, and turned her face away.

"It is the magic, precious." Sarah looked at him, uncomprehending. "It has always been the magic. Up the airy mountain and down the rushy glen, and the mortal girl surrendering unknowing."

"I don't understand."

Jareth looked at her steadily. "Every wish ever made has power. Since the beginning, mortals have appealed to the guardians of their dreams. Goblin King, Erlking, Dream Lord, Sandman, call it what you will. They wished for adventure and love and heartbreak and death, and the magic took every wish and kept it."

Sarah had guessed that much already, in the hall of doors, but she was beginning to get a very bad feeling. "What happened?"

"The magic became…alive. That is the only way I know to explain it, though it does not suffice at all. Mortal children began coming to Faerie when they should not, and the magic fed. When they returned to the world Above, they were…changed. If they were lucky they died. If they were not—" He broke off. "Mortals cannot live without dreams, Sarah. But as long as a thousand mortals made a thousand wishes to a thousand Goblin Kings, the power would do as it willed."

Sarah thought she was beginning to see now. "So you became the Goblin King. You became who they wished for."

Jareth smiled bitterly. "Not by choice. If the world Above should fall, the Underground would fall with it. And the High King protects the Underground, whatever the cost. "

"But what about your…your family? Couldn't they have helped?" It was extremely disconcerting to think of Jareth as part of a family. But apparently, he was. _I am the eldest son of Fibarrah and Aebhoael._ Had he ever been teased by a sister, or taught a brother to slip through time and space on eagle feathers? Sarah realized that she had never asked, and felt ashamed.

"They did help. They left me here." Sarah remembered the crude markings on the door to the chamber and looked up at Jareth, stunned. His own family had imprisoned him? It didn't make any sense. Jarath saw her expression and shook his head sharply.

"It is not their fault, Sarah. I asked it of them, and they could not refuse. It is not important now." He turned his face away briefly and Sarah felt like crying all over again. Then he shook his head as if dismissing the entire subject, and continued.

"Mortals wished for a Goblin King, and the Underground answered. Children were not taken, balance returned. But the power was…difficult, to control. It feeds on dreams, Sarah. All dreams. Even mine." He paused, as if waiting for her to grasp an essential point. Then the moment passed and he slumped a little. "I could not hold it any longer."

Sarah looked at him in dawning horror. "You…you lost control."

Jareth winced. "Thank you, precious, for pointing that out to me. I never would have known." Despite herself, despite everything, Sarah felt her mouth twitch. The she looked down and saw the shimmering threads in her hand, and no longer felt remotely like laughing.

"So you locked yourself away here." The thought made her furious. "You just gave up? How could you—"

"Do not speak of things you do not understand, Sarah! The magic cannot escape. Do you have any idea what it would do to your precious little world? Would you like to watch your child dream of torture and blood and death until you left her guarded in a white room?"

"Oh. I—"

" Whatever you may think of me, precious, I am no monster." Jareth's face was cold and resolute, and utterly terrifying. "I am bound to the magic, as it is bound to me. What is that mortal phrase? Ah, yes. 'A captain goes down with his ship.' The magic cannot escape this place. When my dreams are gone, it will go with me."

For the first time, Sarah looked back to where the door to the chamber had been, but there was only stone. It was as if the door had never been there at all.

A little numbly she said, "It's…it's feeding on me, isn't it. On my dreams. Like those children—" If she was a better person, a true heroine, she thought she would be happy to share in Jareth's torment. As it was, she was sick and frightened and couldn't help herself from wishing traitorously that she did not have to die this way. Jareth trailed two gentle fingers down her arm, and his face softened.

"It cannot have you, precious. I will not allow it." From the look on his face, she didn't think he had enough power at the moment to stand up, never mind send her home. But he would try, she knew. He would try until it killed him. Sarah decided that she needed to change the subject, quickly.

"But why does it want me?"

Jareth was silent a very long time before answering. At length he said, "You were a very strange child. Of all the girls in all the world, only you wanted to truly see the Goblin King." He shook his head impatiently at her incredulous expression. "Oh, you wanted danger and seduction and all of that, make no mistake. But your will was strong. You wished to see the true Goblin King, or nothing at all. One wish, and all the endless Goblin Kings from all the dreamers were nearly undone. The magic wanted to destroy you. If I had not given you to the labyrinth, it would have." He paused. Very quietly he said, "You wondered if I was another dream, precious. But you see me as I am. You always have."

"I…Oh." Sarah had absolutely no idea what to say. He made her sound like something special, something…wonderful. She told herself that it meant nothing. She was a curiosity in his long, immortal life, and that was all it would ever be.

Finally she ventured, "The labyrinth was only a game, then? I was always meant to win?"

Jarath looked at her sharply, not quite fast enough to hide his surprise. "Of course."

Jareth, for all his other talents, had never been a convincing liar. Sarah considered everything he had told her. She remembered the revel and the look of triumph on the face of the not-Goblin King as she wished herself away, and how proud she had felt when she escaped the room with the doors. She had been manipulated so thoroughly she even now was struggling to understand; from the moment she stepped into the taxi, she never had a chance.

She remembered the labyrinth, and how she had forgotten her right words until they _came_ to her, suddenly, as if shoved into her mind by an impatient hand. She would have lost. Sarah had always suspected it; the thought that a teenage girl could outwit an immortal king was laughable. For some reason she did not understand, Jareth had helped her. Helped her and lost control of his magic, she realized, and it was all her fault. Jareth was right. She was a silly, foolish mortal. Maybe one day there would be stories in the Underground of Lady Sarah on her fool's errand, who understood nothing until her time had long run out.

"I'm sorry." It was pitifully inadequate, but she owed him that much at least.

Jareth's mouth quirked into something that was almost a smile and she started a little when she felt his finger very gently trace the bruise on her cheek. When Sarah heard him give a very quiet sigh, something in her gave up its last bit of resistance.

"Jareth? I love you. I have for a long time.

"I—"

He broke off, the look on his face nearly one of agony. She couldn't expect him to say it back, Sarah knew. But when he didn't, something in her chest twisted sharply. She had thought that maybe….but he had given her his answer in the park all those years ago. She should take what he was able to give, and be content.

"You're shivering." Sarah blinked at the non-sequiter. Though the chamber was warm, she had started to shiver convulsively, like Jareth. She had been trying not to think about it. Sitting on a stone floor in a blue evening dress tattered to pieces was probably not helping matters. She started a little as she realized that Jareth was already starting to untangle himself from the nest of blankets.

"Wait." He would freeze. Sarah took a deep breath and decided to be reckless. After all, what had she to lose? Tentatively, she reached over and lifted a corner of the blanket. She scooted closer to Jareth until she was pressed nearly flush against his side and wrapped the blanket back around them. Apart from that one wild kiss, she had never been this close to the Goblin King before. She could hear her heart pounding, absurdly loud. She valiantly tried to ignore the fact that she was, for all intents and purposes, cuddling. Jareth was watching her with bemusement, and something that looked almost like satisfaction. She knew she was blushing furiously and cursed herself for it. But he smelled like wind and winter nights and, very faintly, peaches, and Sarah couldn't bring herself to move

***

They sat like that for a long time. Sarah grew warm and almost sleepy. Jareth was generating what felt like the heat from a small furnace. Somehow, his arm had crept around her back to pull her even closer, and her head had dropped to rest on his bare shoulder. She half-expected that he would ruin the moment with innuendo, but he had stayed quiet. Sarah smiled a little against his shoulder. When he wished to be, Jareth was more perceptive than anyone she had ever known.

Absently, Sarah reached up to push a strand of hair out of her eyes, and her finger brushed over the chain of Jareth's necklace. She started a little in surprise; she must have put it on again after the revel, though she had no memory of it. Sarah drew it out very carefully, as if it would shatter at a touch, and tried not to think of a snowy afternoon in Central Park.

"You still have the necklace." Jareth's tone was…off. He sounded amazed, elated, and it made Sarah wonder if the magic had succeeded at last in driving him mad. He reached out and lifted the chain over her head in one smooth motion, and cradled the necklace in his palm as if it was something infinitely precious.

"Jareth. What's the matter?" His fingers closed around the crystal and he sagged back a little against the wall. Slowly, his mouth curved into a smile. It was a real smile, not triumphant or bitter or mocking, and it was one she had seen only rarely. She watched him with trepidation.

"Contrary Sarah, to refuse me and accept my token. You were so stubborn. One wish and you would have been mine, and you never called." Very softly he said, "I thought you had lost it. I regretted it, you know. Giving something like this to a mortal girl, to be buried in a drawer like a faded keepsake." He held the necklace up by its chain, watching the little crystal swing as it caught the light. "What you wish for. Whatever you wish for. Such a gift has never before been given. You could have tried to be more flattered."

Sarah's eyes widened, and she began to grin herself. One wish. One wish, and they both would be free. Why on earth hadn't he mentioned the necklace before?

"I wish--"

"No!" Jareth clamped his hand across Sarah's mouth; she had rarely seen him move so quickly. "You cannot. Have you heard nothing I said? What do you think will happen if I leave this room?" He paused. "Would you shatter a world?"

He lowered his hand from her mouth, slowly, his chest still heaving with the exertion of stopping her impassioned wish. Their faces were inches apart, now, and he looked at her steadily.

"I am sending you home, my Sarah. Back to your city of steel and smoke. Perhaps, sometimes, you will dream of me."

She already did. She had, for too many years. It couldn't end like this.

"No!"

"Yes. You do not have a choice."

Jareth lowered his head, then, and kissed her. It was soft as a whisper, nothing like the violent maelstrom of before, and so much better because he knew this was not a dream. He pressed the little crystal necklace into the palm of her right hand and closed her fingers around it, and Sarah, melting into a kiss that she had dreamed of for a very long time, did not think to resist.

"Remember me, Sarah." He murmured it into her mouth, and his hands ghosted over her face as if memorizing her. She was flushed and panting when she pulled away, and Jareth smiled at her. She realized what he was going to do a moment too late.

"I wish you away."

The crystal in her hand flared hot and bright as the sun, again, and Sarah opened her fingers to drop it and could not. She reached out for Jareth's hand but missed. Something insider her wrenched and she fell down, or was it up, she did not know, and she could not stop calling his name.

When Sarah opened her eyes, she was laying on the very nicely carpeted floor of her empty condo. Shards of something that looked like crystal were embedded in her right hand. When the phone rang, the sound was alien and shrill, and she stared at it numbly. _On the first day of Christmas…_

It was Christmas eve, Toby was waiting for her at the airport, and she had abandoned her true love to die in a tower of stone and dreams. It would have been a wonderfully tragic fairy tale, if only she had not lived it.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Happy holidays to everyone! I didn't manage to get this up before Christmas, but hopefully long chapter makes up for it :)

Chapter Seven: A Christmas Story

"Sarah? It's past midnight now. It's Christmas."

Toby's voice was still more than a bit shaky from the shock she had given him. Sarah didn't know what he must have thought, opening the apartment door to see her lying still on the carpet with blood and crystal in her hands.

Sarah started a little as she felt a light touch on her back. She was curled up on her old couch in the living room, showered and changed into her rattiest pajamas, clutching a mug of tea that was going cold and staring fixedly at the pretty little Christmas tree in the corner. Toby was perched on the edge of the couch beside her, twisting his hands together and looking as if he still wanted to drag her off to the nearest hospital.

"Toby? Do you think I'll ever see him again?" Sarah's voice was plaintive and young, as if she were still a child rather than a woman who had seen monsters.

"I—" He paused, and Sarah knew he wanted to lie. He wanted to tell her that everything would be all right. But they had always told each other the truth, ever since the night Sarah sat her little brother down and told him of a king and an ill-considered wish.

"I don't think he's coming back. It sounds like he _can't_ come back, not if we all want to get out of this mess."

Something of her utter devastation must have shown in her face, for Toby actually looked sorry to say it. Magic dance aside, Toby had never liked the Goblin King. The one and only time that Toby had interrupted one of Jareth's visits, the two men had ended up in a fistfight on the subway from Manhattan to Queens, and they had all been kicked off somewhere near the Green Lantern. When he heard about the day in Central Park, soft-spoken Toby yelled for ten minutes about arrogant immortals and impossible demands, and tried to make her promise never to see Jareth again. They had not spoken again for weeks.

"Maybe it's for the best. He's not human, Sarah. He told you in the park; he cares, as much as he can. He's lived a long time, and you're something different, something exciting. But he can't really _feel_, not like we do. He doesn't—" _He doesn't love you._ Toby knew better than to say it aloud, but Sarah heard it just the same.

"So that's it, is it? I'm just supposed to leave him there, and it's alright, because he's not one of _us_? Because he's lived a long time, and it's only fair that he gets to die for people who don't even believe in him? But of course he doesn't feel anything at all, so he won't mind, will he? "

Toby had the grace to look ashamed, but Sarah wasn't finished. Very softly she said, "I can't leave him, Toby."

"You can. You have to."

Sarah shook her head sharply. "You don't understand. It's not like Amanda, or Wanda, or Vanessa, or any of those girls you say that to. I _love_ him. Like dad loved my mum, before it all fell apart. I don't care about saving the world, it's horrible but I don't care about any of it, except him, and I can't…I can't let him go." She looked at Toby helplessly. "I can't."

Toby turned away. His fingers fiddled with a loose bit of thread on the couch, and he seemed to be paying an inordinate amount of attention to the twinkling Christmas tree. Sarah abruptly remembered that the tree had been for him, because he had always loved the smell of pine needles. She wondered if Toby would ever want to have a real Christmas tree again.

"Sarah? " Toby's voice was carefully neutral. "What's that?" She looked over at Toby and the tiny, decidedly blue ball of fur that had settled in his lap, and she didn't know whether to laugh or to burst into tears again. She settled for a bit of both.

"She was a gift."

"_Sarah! Sarah, did you hear? They gave me Juliet! I can't come this week, of course. There's rehearsals, and fittings, and—" Her mother's voice broke off. In the background Sarah heard a man's deep baritone, and her mother gave a breathy sigh that was badly disguised as a laugh. "You have to come see the play. I'll send tickets this time, I promise—" Another laugh, and a hollow click. Her mother had hung up. _

_Sarah snapped her cell phone shut and set it deliberately on the coffee table. She hadn't really thought that her mother would have time to visit, and she cursed herself for hoping. _

_When something soft and very definitely alive brushed past her ankle, Sarah squeaked and leapt straight up in the air. She instinctively drew back her foot to kick and then, remembering the decidedly odd nature of some of her uninvited guests in the past, thought better of it. _

"_Oh!" Sarah looked down at what was quite possible the most adorable kitten she had ever seen. It –she? —was a pure, soft white, all paws and fur and wide blue eyes. Sarah couldn't help herself; with a sound that was highly embarrassing coming from a grown woman of twenty-three, she knelt down and reached out a tentative hand. She half expected the kitten to shy away, but instead it padded toward her and rubbed its head against her fingers, purring more loudly than she would have thought possible in such a small creature. Slowly, the white fur turned to a faint, iridescent shade of blue. _

_Sarah drew back her hand. The creature—not a kitten, Sarah thought a little dazedly—had shifted from blue to stormy grey, and looked at her with wide eyes that somehow managed to convey reproach. The tiny mouth opened, and a puff of bright flame wafted through Sarah's fingers. It felt cool, more like a spring breeze than an inferno. Sarah had the uncomfortable thought that, had she been unwelcome, it would have seared off her hand. Sarah and her visitor stared at each other for a moment. Then, slowly, Sarah held out her hand again. The not-kitten jumped the distance from the floor into her lap without apparent effort, where it curled into a contended ball and began to purr. _

_The note she found under the pretty silver collar said only, 'J'. Sarah poured milk into an old chipped saucer and settled them both on the couch to watch re-runs of 'Dr. Who', and did not think again of her mother for a long time. _

"I see." Toby ran gentle fingers over the furry head, and his mouth quirked a little at the creature's loud purr. Sarah swallowed hard.

"How long are you staying?" The attempt at normal conversation felt horribly stilted. Sarah realized that she hadn't even said hello to Toby. She had been half-unconscious when he burst through her door, and then it had all been a blur of hot tea and the story that seemed to claw its way out of her throat.

"I don't know." _As long as you need me_, Sarah heard, and something in her relaxed just a little.

"No one waiting for you at home, then?"

"Not this year." Toby gave a little shrug. "Last girlfriend said I was jumpy and delusional. 'Course, I did drag her out of her favorite restaurant on Valentine's Day. In the middle of dinner."

"What was chasing you?"

"Not sure, but it was big. I think Amanda wore some funny perfume or something. It really went after her."

It should have been funny, but her brother sounded sad and a little lost, and not at all amused. Sarah always teased Toby about his seemingly endless succession of girlfriends. He claimed that he was just popular. Never having dated much herself, Sarah hadn't considered how hard it would be to find something approaching normalcy when you saw things with teeth in the shadows.

She should have seen through the bluster, Sarah thought. She knew Toby better than anyone else in the world, and yet she still saw what she wanted and ignored the rest. Sarah would have apologized, but found that she didn't know how.

"What are we going to do, then? It doesn't sound like he has much time."

"I…what?" Sarah blinked at her brother, nonplussed.

"You don't think I'm letting you do this alone, do you? You saved me, when I was a kid. And even if you hadn't, I'm your little brother. You're not allowed to go get yourself killed without me. Mind you, I still say that your taste in men in horrible. Only you could manage to fall for a guy who got elected to control magic on the rampage. And the pants, seriously? You've gotta admit—oof!" Toby broke off as Sarah threw herself at him and promptly burst into tears all over his shoulder.

"Hey. Hey, it's ok. We'll figure it out. Don't cry, please." He patted her back very gently; he had always been at a complete loss when faced with a woman crying.

Sarah sniffed, and nodded. "I lied, earlier. When I said I didn't care what happened to anyone else. I would care; I always have.

"I know." Toby took a deep breath, and kept patting her back. "I know."

Finally, to Toby's obvious relief, Sarah sniffed one last time and pulled away.

"I don't even know where to even start." How did you find someone hidden in a magic tower by wayward wishes?

"It's the Underground, right? So things don't work the way they're supposed to. Maybe you don't have to find him. The wishes that started all this came from Above. I think…I think we have to do something here, in this world, to fix it."

_The way forward is sometimes the way back. _ Of course, Sarah thought. If the wishes were destroyed, Jareth could control the magic again. It was an utterly insane idea, but it was all that they had.

"What if people believed in the Goblin King? In Jareth, not the Erlking or the Sandman or the Dreamwalker. We _created_ different Goblin Kings by wishing, until he couldn't hold them all anymore. Maybe we can undo it. If we all wish for the same thing, all at once, the magic wouldn't be strong enough to hold him anymore."

Toby was shaking his head before she was half-way through. "People don't seem to believe in anything much anymore. They don't believe in magic or science or even God, sometimes. They would never believe a fairy tale."

"But people still want to believe! They want something extraordinary, something magical. They must. Jareth said that the magic was powerful. People must have been making wishes all along and believing in them, or he wouldn't have lost control." She took a deep breath. "We just ask everyone who's ever made a wish to believe in one more thing."

"This is crazy, Sarah." But he looked, reluctantly, as if he half-believed her.

"You're an editor. If I wrote something, how long would it take to get it published?"

"It…depends. The fantasy market is vicious. Every kid with a brain and an English degree thinks he's the next Tolkien. But I could show it to some other editors, maybe even some agents." Toby took a deep breath. "Publishing isn't fast, Sarah. Even if you wrote it, found an agent, found a publisher, most books take a year to proof and typeset and market. We don't have that much time."

"But publishers can rush that, right? If there's a book that catches their eye."

"If you're J.K. Rowling, maybe. Everyone else gets to wait in line."

Sarah sat very still for a minute, thinking. "Do you have another idea?"

Toby shook his head.

"Then I'm going to try. It's," Sarah swallowed hard, "It's better than nothing, better than just sitting her and waiting."

"Tell me what you need me to do."

Sarah shook her head sharply. "No. You can't be anywhere near me."

"Why ever not?" Toby looked honestly shocked. "No. Oh, no. Your stupid martyr complex got us into this, and it really needs to take a holiday."

"The thing that has Jareth is not going to just let me do this, Toby! I don't think it's strong enough to hurt me Above, not unless I go to another Revel. But I'm not sure."

"I'm not going anywhere, Sarah." Toby crossed his arms. "I'll camp outside your door, I'll sleep in the hallway, I'll set up an office in the alley out back. I don't care. If you're going to fight for this guy, the least I can do is help."

Sarah knew she should protest, but she was simply far too tired. She looked down, overwhelmed.

"Thanks, Toby." She had never been good at saying what she meant, but from the look on Toby's face, it was enough. Sarah took out her cell phone and blinked at the time. It was three o'clock in the morning on Christmas day. With luck, one of the senior partners would still be at the office. Mr. Heller was on his third wife and his fifth mistress, both of whom were suing him for alimony and who knew what else. He probably hadn't gone home for the holidays.

"Quitting your job? It's about time. You should have done it years ago."

Sarah gave Toby a small, genuine smile. "Yes, Mr. Heller? No, no, I'm not in any trouble." Toby choked. "There's something I need to tell you."

**

That night, Sarah dreamed. She was on the edge of a high cliff among green hills. Far below her the sea was calm and blue and a little strip of white sand sparkled as if twined with silver threads. In front of her, near the edge of the cliff, stood her mother.

Her face was unlined, and she was dressed as Shakespeare's Juliet, in a gauzy white gown with ribbons and bows and puffed sleeves. Sarah knew the costume because her mother had show it to her once, when Sarah was very small. Juliet would have been her mother's breakout performance if not for the inconvenient birth of Sarah. The Royal Shakespeare Company had let the lovely Ms. Kate Morrigan keep the gown as a souvenir. Her mother had won the role again, years later, but insisted it was not the same.

Her mother's eyes were closed and she swayed a little, as if in a trance.

"Mum? Mum!" Sarah ran to her and shook her as hard as she could. Far away, something in Sarah screamed at her to wake up, but Sarah paid it no heed. She hadn't seen her mother in five years.

Green eyes opened slowly, eyes like Sarah's, clear and bright as the rolling hills. "You came. I told you I would send tickets, didn't I?" Her mother's brow wrinkled a little as she looked around. "But there's no one here. Why didn't anyone come?" Her voice was plaintive, childlike. "They always come to see Juliet. They want to see her in love, and they want to see her die for it, and they go for dinner and sigh and say it's romantic. She was only fifteen, you know. Like you. You would have been Juliet, dead of the dreaming, but Jareth wouldn't let you go."

Sarah watched her mother's knowing smile uneasily. "Wherefore art thou Romeo, Sarah? He won't come."

Her mother took another step backward, toward the edge of the cliff. Her bare foot stopped a scant inch from the edge

"I…wait. Mum, wait!" Her mother gave her a gentle smile, and took another step.

"Mum!" Sarah lunged, reaching out, but she caught only air. She fell past her mother…no, _through_ her mother, and into nothing.

Sarah screamed. She fell for what felt like a very long time, clawing at the rushing wind as if it would give her purchase. She hit the cold water on her back, hard, and then she had no breath left to scream.

Sarah sank. She had taken swimming lessons once in the neighborhood pool, paddling awkwardly from one end to the other. They were no help at all. The water was black and green and bitterly, bitterly cold, and though she kicked feebly, it dragged her inexorably down. Sarah opened her mouth, panicked and desperate for air, and the water rushed in greedily.

When the arms first seized her, Sarah though she was imagining it. But they held fast, and Sarah felt herself tugged upward in a sure grip. But there was water everywhere, down her throat and in her nose and twining in her long dark hair, and Sarah felt herself fade away.

When she came to, someone was pounding her on the back.

"Sarah? Sarah!"

She turned on her side and heaved helplessly, her cheek pressed into sparkling white sand. She was vaguely aware of a hand holding her hair off her face, and another rubbing her back in small circles.

She heaved once more, the taste of salt bitter on her tongue, and stilled. The face that came into focus above her was achingly familiar.

"Sarah." Gentle, frantic hands traced over her face. "Gods, Sarah. I thought I lost you." He pressed his face to the curve of her neck and held on for a moment. Sarah felt him shaking. Far too soon, he pulled back and took her face in her hands.

"You cannot dream, Sarah. Do you understand me? When you sleep, you cannot dream!"

Sarah opened her mouth to answer, and woke up

**

"Sarah?" Toby was hovering over her, and he looked even more terrified than Jareth. Sarah blinked and sat up very slowly. Moonlight filtered through the blinds, casting chiaroscuro shadows over them. Her sheets were mostly on the floor, and her duvet was wrapped around her in an impossible tangle.

"It's alright, Toby. Just a bad dream." He had insisted on staying the night, and Sarah had made up her battered sleeper sofa for her in the living room. He must have heard her cry out.

"That…God, Sarah, that wasn't a dream." He took her hand in his gently. Sarah saw traces of something white and glittering, like sand, and realized that her mouth still tasted bitterly of salt. When Sarah passed a shaky hand through her hair, it came away soaking wet.

"You were choking." Toby shuddered. "You were choking on nothing, and I couldn't wake you. What happened?"

"I can't dream."

Sarah looked at her brother with wide, desperate eyes, green like her mother's, and Toby didn't ask anything more. Instead he put an arm around her. They sat side by side, silent, until dawn crept through the blinds and Christmas night was thoroughly gone.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Sorry for the really really long wait! Law school quarter started with a vengeance, and writing said adios temporarily. But I'm back, and I promise this isn't abandoned; only two or three more chapters to go now. Happy reading!

Chapter Eight

The noise was deafening. Sarah sat behind her little table, a wall of books at her back, and prayed that she would stay awake. Two months ago she had never even seen a book signing. Since then she had been the guest of honor at more than she could count. Her book was a success, she was informed, a sensation, a revelation. It was the perfect antidote to a jaded age of reason, a fantastic re-imaging of urban fantasy.

Sarah fumbled in the bag at her feet, watching through the picture window as what looked like half of Manhattan jostled for position on the narrow sidewalk outside the Strand bookstore. A century ago Fourth Avenue had been lined with bookstores. Now only the Strand remained, eighteen miles of old and new, unique and depressingly mundane books twisting in a wooden labyrinth above the rushing city.

Sarah found the packet in her bag and popped a pill out of its little plastic case. She had dreamed twice more since Christmas. The first time, the Wild Hunt chased her through dark woods. Horses and hounds, Fiann mac Cumhail and his Fianna crying "_Glaine ár g-croi"_, and the unquiet dead following behind in a wave like an oil slick. Sarah stumbled before them all in white nightgown that glowed in the torchlight, and a fair-haired rider with silver eyes caught her up before the hunt claimed her. She woke with a three-inch slash down her arm. The second time…the second time Sarah tried not to think about at all.

She slept in little cat-naps, half an hour at a time, to be sure that she didn't sink deep enough to dream. She used loud alarms and cold water, and drives down the freeway with all the windows open to the snow and grating guitars on the radio. When even that stopped working, Sarah resorted to the wonders of modern medicine. She couldn't say that it was an improvement.

Sarah longed for sleep more than she had ever longed for anything in her life, perhaps even Jareth. The book itself was written in such a haze of exhaustion and terror and wild hope that Sarah was surprised it was even coherent. Toby was beside himself, but there was nothing he could do. If he checked her into a hospital she would dream, and then she would die.

"You ready, Sarah?" Toby had a cup of coffee in his hands and a worried crease in his forehead. He looked like he had aged five years in as many months. Somehow he had become the unholy union of her agent, her editor and her publicist, and he was barely getting more sleep than she. Toby set the coffee down in front of her and patted her shoulder once, hesitantly. "Sarah? We can call still call this off. I think we should. You look horrible."

"No, I can do this. I'll be fine." Sarah picked up the coffee and took a tiny sip, holding back the instinctive grimace. They had both learned to hate the taste of coffee. Toby, formerly black coffee's staunchest advocate, had taken to drowning his in syrup and cream just to make it palatable.

"Fine. But after this, we take a break. I won't watch you kill yourself over this. If he were here he would say the same thing." Toby held her eyes. When she finally nodded, he went to tell the manager that they could open the doors.

***

"Um…who should I write to?"

Sarah blinked twice, hard, and willed the three books swimming before her eyes to resolve themselves into one. The girl in front of her bounced a little on her toes and beamed, glowing from her scuffed Doc Martins to the tips of her spiky black hair. Behind her, the line twisted through what looked like all eighteen miles of the Strand's inventory. There were grandmothers with walkers and businessmen pecking at iphones, and entire families complete with infants wrapped up like presents against the winter chill. Even after countless signings, it still astonished her. She was Sarah Williams, from Riverhead, New York, and things like this did not happen to her.

"To Ben, please, ma'am . He's my boyfriend. Ben Postelwaith, really, but just Ben's probably easier." Sarah scrawled 'For Ben. Enjoy.', and signed. The girl chattered on. "I couldn't believe Tanya almost turned Eldan down. I mean, he was offering her everything! Who wants Central Park when she could have a faerie king?" She paused. "I would never have waited to tell him yes. Eldan practically begged her to go with him. And Tanya made him wait two weeks!"

Sarah opened her mouth before she could think better of it. "What if he hadn't said it?"

"Um…what was that?"

"What if Eldan hadn't…hadn't told Tanya he loved her? "

The girl looked at Sarah as if she was perhaps a little dim. "It wouldn't matter. I mean, he'd done everything for her. He saved her and Tony in the labyrinth, he gave her that kitten-thing when she was sad about her mum. And he was just…there, whenever Tanya was happy or sad or just wanted some company. He dated her since before she even knew what dating was." The girl wrinkled her nose. "That is a little creepy, but he didn't take advantage or anything, so I guess it's ok. The point is, it didn't matter what he _said_. Eldan loves Tanya; everyone knows that."

Sarah had to ask one more question. "Do you believe in Eldan? In the Goblin King?"

The girl grinned. "Wow, this is so awesome! I heard that you always ask that, but I wasn't sure if it was true. Yeah, I think I do. I mean, maybe his name's not Eldan, and there isn't really a Tania, but I think…I think there's something out there watching our dreams. Making sure things don't go pear-shaped. The way you wrote about it was so real, I think…I think maybe you didn't just make it up." The girl laughed. "Crazy, I know, but there you go. We've all gotta believe in something, right?"

It was an answer she was hearing more often than not. Ordinarily Sarah would have been ecstatic, but the girl's other words were replaying themselves in her head, and Sarah could not escape them.

_Eldan loves Tania; everyone knows that. _ Was it true?

Sarah shook her head sharply. If she was exhausted enough that she was seeing profound truths in the ramblings of teenagers, she wasn't going to last much longer. Sarah handed over the book numbly, the pen limp in her hands, and smiled weakly at the girl's enthusiastic thanks. Then she caught Toby's eye over the heads of the queue.

"All right, people. Ten minute break." His voice rose over the murmur of the crowd. Sarah felt a twist of guilt as she watched the face of the middle-aged woman in front of her fall.

"Don't worry. I'll be back in a minute." The woman looked relieved, and Sarah pushed unsteadily away from the table.

**

"Hey, easy now." Toby's hand was on her elbow, half-supporting her, and she leaned into him gratefully. She stumbled in his wake through what felt like an endless maze of books, until he pulled her into a little back room that that doubled as the manager's office. There was a couch in one corner and a huge desk in the other, and boxes upon boxes of papers and other odds and ends pushed up against the walls. Sarah sank down on the couch with a sigh that was almost a sob and closed her eyes.

"Sarah!" Unwillingly, Sarah dragged her eyes back open. "Sarah, look at this!"

Toby was standing in front of the desk, an expression for something like wonder on his face. Sarah stumbled to her feet. Toby wouldn't look like that unless…

When Sarah saw what was sitting on the desk, something in her chest fluttered like it was trying to escape, and she covered her mouth with her hand as if to contain it. She reached out trembling hand and stroked the downy fluff of the little owl feather. It felt warm and familiar and somehow like Jareth. Sarah picked the feather up carefully and cradled it in her hands. Beside the feather there was a crystal.

Toby grabbed her wrist before she could touch it.

"Not a good idea, Sarah. It might be another trick, we can't be sure…"

But the feather hummed warmly in her hands, beckoning, and Sarah could not be cautious. Not now, when she had nearly given up.

She scooped up the crystal and slipped through air and glass, into the dreaming. The tower rose before her against a purple sky, cracked stone among desolate snowy peaks. And then, without sound, it shattered. Sarah felt sharp wind against her cheek and the felt the air shudder, and stone fragments exploded outward, whirling past her.

"Jareth!" But she was too far away, insubstantial as the glittering silver threads raining down upon her, and she could do nothing but watch. Was this her final punishment, forcing her to watch his end? It didn't make sense, she thought frantically. People believed what she had written. They mowed the lawn and filed papers and shuttled the kids to school, and somewhere, where perhaps even they would not admit, they believed in the Goblin King, . Why hadn't it worked?

When the white speck rose from the crumbling wreckage, Sarah did not dare to hope. But it drew closer, and closer still, until a great white owl with silver eyes was gliding through falling stone and fragments of dreams. She gave a breathless sob and reached out, and the owl dipped its wings, left and right. It should be impossible for an owl to look kingly, Sarah thought a little hysterically, but this one managed it. Then it wheeled away from her, out into the purple sky and over the horizon, and was gone.

***

When the crystal went dark, Sarah returned to herself with a jerk. Toby was standing at her shoulder, watching the crystal, and his eyes were wide.

"We…we did it." The Goblin King was free. They looked at each other for a moment, neither knowing quite what to do. Abruptly, Toby gave a great shout and threw his arms around her, nearly crushing the breath out of her.

"Sarah, we did it!"

Sarah stood very still, exhausted and relieved and completely, utterly overwhelmed. He was free!

He was free, and…and he hadn't come.

She had been a fool to expect it, Sarah told herself. Saving him had been an insane, impossible gamble, and she should thank every God there was that it had actually worked.

Now Jareth had to rule a kingdom again, and sort out whatever mess had been left by the magic, and see his family, and a she must be impossibly low on his list of concerns. She would marry and maybe have children, and if sometimes she looked at her husband in the dark and thought of another face, he would pretend not to notice. Some afternoon in Central Park a black-gloved hand would tap her on the shoulder one more time, and Jareth he would give her that arrogant, devastating grin and ask how she liked the city. She had not expected to be thanked, Sarah thought. Somehow it would only be a mockery of everything they had done. But...

"He'll come, Sarah." Toby was looking at her with something disturbingly close to pity. She didn't, couldn't answer. "Come on. You need to sleep now." He took the crystal from her and set it back on the table, but when he reached for the feather, Sarah shook her head. She stumbled back to the lumpy little couch and sank down, curling into a little ball. The feather brushed against her cheek, still impossibly warm, and Sarah slept. If she dreamed she did not know.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N I have absolutely no excuse for the long, long wait, other than the fact than life (and school) apparently caught up with me. But I took my last final of the year today (freeeeedom!) , so this thing should actually start being updated again. Thank you so, so much to all of you who review; you keep me going! **

**Chapter Nine: The Dreaming Queen **

**Sarah traced an absent finger over a dark whorl of wood on the bar. Her book had gone on tour. After the bookstore and the crystal, she had slept for the better part of a day on the couch in the Strand's office. Sleep had helped, she supposed. She still couldn't look at the crystal without a twist of misery, and she found herself carrying the little owl feather in her pocket rather obsessively. But she smiled when she thought of Jareth more often than not, and told herself that he would visit when he could. And if she still dreamed of a park in the winter, that was no one's business but her own. **

**Toby declared that he didn't want to see another book as long as he lived, and voted for a very extended vacation someplace tropical and far away. They certainly had the money. It was a completely unintended consequence, but neither of them would ever have to work again. Sarah insisted on the tour. She wasn't sure how much control Jareth had, or what would happen if people stopped believing in him, and she didn't want to find out. The reading public was a notoriously fickle monster. People wanted vampires and teenage wizards and forgot about rings of power and space adventure, and in a hundred years they would think 'hobbit' was a new snack food. It was the way of things, but it could not happen to her book. Not yet. **

**Sarah wasn't entirely sure how she had ended up in Ilwaco. The little town nestled on the Washington State coastline was hardly a writer's ideal market. Toby had muttered something about a scheduling conflict and a famous bookstore, and off they went. The bookstore in question flooded the day before they arrived. Apparently the town spent the better part of the year under a grey curtain of rain, and Main Street was waterlogged more often than not. They had done the signing in an incongruous cross between a general store, a taxidermy shop and a curiosity museum. Stuffed animal heads and strange birds lined the walls, and Sarah was fairly sure that most of them were extinct. There was a vintage fortune-telling gypsy in a corner, and something that was labeled as "the were-man" and looked as if someone had tried to stitch together an alligator and a rabbit. Amazingly, the people still came. They poured into the store to poke at the stuffed cougar and pour quarters into the gypsy, and Sarah signed books by the hundreds. **

**Toby had gone to a meeting afterwards, something about re-negotiating merchant agreements, and he assured Sarah that it was not something she wanted to sit through. The thought of going back to the little motel, with its endless cable channels and too-soft bed, drove her to seek out the only bar in town. **

**Duffy's apparently served as an unholy union of dive bar and unofficial town hall. There were yellowed sports illustrated covers and neon beer signs, a dented shuffleboard table and a jukebox that seemed to only play the Rolling Stones. When she walked in, Mick was wailing that he couldn't drink her off his mind, and Sarah thought that the idea was worth a try. **

**Perched on a squeaky stool at one end of the bar, Sarah watched the crowd in the dusty mirror and sipped slowly at her drink. At half past nine on a Tuesday night, Duffy's was full of fishermen and cannery workers and tired-looking men and women in starched shirts. A small group huddled over a laptop screen at a small table, and Sarah could have sworn that she heard one of the women say "mayor." Thankfully, it seemed she wasn't quite famous enough that people recognized her on sight. Newcomers glanced at the stranger with her too-high heels and far-away eyes, and left her alone.**

**"****Want another?" The bartender was tall, with a wild mane of dark curling hair and a beguiling smile. There was the whisper of Ireland in his voice, and his eyes were strangely familiar. The bartenders must have changed shifts; when she walked in, the man behind the bar had been white-haired and missing most of his teeth. Sarah couldn't help thinking of Christmas Eve and a taxi driver, and told herself firmly to stop it. **

**"****Ah…sure." She fumbled in her purse, but the bartender waved his hand. **

**"****Nah. 'Tis on the house." He cocked his head to the side and looked at her, almost assessing. Sarah instinctively sat up a little straighter and stared back, resisted the urge to squirm. Someone called 'Finn!' and he turned away, glass already in hand, but Sarah saw him snatch glances at her when he thought she wasn't looking. Maybe he had liked the book, she thought uneasily, and decided to leave after she finished her drink. **

**"****You saving this seat?"**

**Sarah started, and turned to face the woman standing by the empty bar stool beside her. She looked like a trucker, or maybe a mechanic. A long blond ponytail was tucked through a white baseball cap, and she wore heavy jeans and a worn flannel shirt. Perhaps it was only the shadows in the bar, but her face was arresting and very nearly beautiful. A silver pendant hung from a chain around her wrist. **

**"****Tanya!" A man who had just walked into the bar clapped her on the shoulder and nodded at her, and the woman—Tanya—nodded back. So she was a regular, Sarah thought, and started to slide off her stool. **

**"****Hey, wait. I didn't mean to scare you off." Her voice was lovely, soft and low. Sarah froze like a startled rabbit. **

**"****It's alright. I should be getting back to the hotel."**

**"****You're a tourist, then?" Tanya slid comfortably onto the stool beside Sarah and nodded at the bartender. She tugged off her baseball cap and yanked the tie out of her hair, and fine gold strands fell in a river down her back. Sarah would have sworn it was the exact color of Jareth's. ****_You really have it bad, don't you_****? She could not escape him, it seemed, not even in a nameless bar at the other end of the country. Maybe she needed another drink after all. Sarah realized she was gaping at Tanya, and told herself to pull it together. **

**"****I'm just in town for a few days. It was…kind of an accident." The last thing Sarah wanted to talk about was the book signing. Belatedly, Sarah realized she hadn't introduced herself, and she held out a hand. "I'm Sarah."**

**"****Tanya. It's Tatiana, really, but Tanya's easier." **

**"****Tatiana. Is that Russian?" Something niggled at the back of Sarah's mind, telling her she should know that name, but it slid out of reach. **

**"****Something like that." Tanya smiled a little, and took a gulp of the Guinness Finn plunked down in front of her. "An accident, huh? That's how most people come here, I guess. Can't imagine anyone coming here on purpose, though I suppose they do. Fishing and all that."**

**Sarah blinked at these pronouncements, and wondered if perhaps Tanya had started drinking earlier. **

**"****I'm not drunk, I promise. Just…distracted. It's been a busy month."**

**Sarah laughed, a bit hysterically and for too long. "I completely understand." Tanya gave her a strangely knowing look. And for some reason, sitting in a dive bar beside a trucker with the hair of a princess didn't seem the least bit awkward anymore. Maybe, Sarah though, it was the rum. She took a gulp of her rum and coke, barely managing not to choke as it burned its way down her throat, and she and Tanya sat for a moment in companionable silence. **

**"****It's strange. You don't seem like an idiot."**

**"****I…what?" Sarah told herself she couldn't possibly have heard that right. **

**"****You don't recognize me?" **

**Sarah shook her head dumbly and started to slide off her bar stool. Tanya sighed. **

**"****People say my son and I look alike."**

**"****Your…your son?"**

**"****Yes, my son. Arrogant, immortal, tendency to turn into something white and feathery when particularly put out." Tanya paused and glared at Sarah. Her face turned somehow sharper, and something sinuous and silver glittered in her hair. Sarah remembered the revel, and the woman who had stared at her. "Obsessed with a mortal girl who somehow managed to break his heart and save his life. If it were the only first and not the second, I would kill you."**

**Tanya lifted her Guinness to her lips and sipped contemplatively. Sarah's heart thundered in her ears like the beat of a horse's hooves on the highway, once upon a dream. **

**"****You're…you're Abhoeil. You're Jareth's mother." So she was meeting the parents, Sarah thought more than a little hysterically. Oh, god. Tanya—Abhoeil?—inclined her head, and the gesture reminded her so sharply of Jareth that she had to turn away. **

**Sarah blurted out, "He…looks like you, when he's angry." She instantly wished she could take it back. But she remembered something then, and suddenly the opinion of Jareth's mother didn't matter much at all. **

**"****You left him there." Her anger would never rival that of the mighty faerie queen, but she thought that Tanya's eyes widened, just a little. "You locked him away in that tower, you left him to die! How could you?" Her voice rose to something near a shout, and the murmurs in the bar quieted. The bartender looked over at them, his expression unreadable. Tanya and Sarah held each other's eyes, green and grey, and it was the queen who looked away first. **

**"****I won't justify it to you. I didn't have a choice." She paused. More quietly she said, "And maybe there are some choices I wouldn't make again." Sarah remembered a stupid girl who had gone on a quest once upon a time, and felt a traitorous twist of sympathy. **

**"****He's alright, then? The book worked?" She had seen it in the crystal, but she had to be sure. **

**"****Yes. Jareth is…free. He doesn't need the book any more." ****_Then why doesn't he come_****, Sarah wondered, but she couldn't bring herself to ask. She was too afraid of the answer. **

**"****He hasn't recovered." The other woman said it abruptly, as if the words had been pulled unwillingly out of her. "He controls the magic, but travel between the dreaming is…difficult for us." Her mouth twisted, as if the Guinness suddenly disagreed with her. "He told me to give you a message. He'll come when he can." **

**Something in Sarah's chest fluttered wildly. If this was another trick, Sarah thought, she could not bear it. Abhoeil watched her, unblinking. **

**"****You really don't know, do you?" **

**"****I…what?"**

**Sarah's shook her head absently. Jareth was coming back, and she was not really listening anymore. **

**"****Foolish girl! Words mean only what they are intended to, and yet you must have the words or nothing at all. You dream so strongly, but you refuse to believe anything unless it is declared and written out and tied with a pretty bow. Did you never think what would happen, if the lord of the dreaming professed the dream he held above all others? Words have power in our world, and the magic was difficult enough to control. He gave you everything, and it was not enough. You couldn't do without those pitiful, useless words!" Abhoeil looked nearly murderous. **

**_Eldan loved Tanya; everyone knows that_****. She hadn't allowed herself to believe. But what if…**

** "****But...but he did lose control of it."**

** "****Said or unsaid, it was true. The dreaming knew it. It was only a matter of time. And my son was….unduly confident in his abilities. He has reason to be, but there are some things even he cannot master."**

**Abhoeil was not lying, Sarah though. She sounded much too bitter. But that meant…**

**Sarah stared down into her rum and coke and watched the little bubbles rise to the surface, and trembled. She had assumed that Jareth lost control because of the Labyrinth. But if he hadn't...if it had been because of her...**

**Oh, god, what a fool she had been. He had tried to tell her, that day in the park so long ago, but she had wanted to hear the words, the right words. And when he couldn't say them...**

**Sarah sniffed, and firmly told her breakdown that it had to wait until she got back the hotel. **

**"****Everything alright, ladies?" The bartender looked at Tanya, his eyes faintly accusing. He handed Sarah a handkerchief, an actual cotton one with little embroidered initials in the corner. She stared at it a moment in bemusement before taking it and scrubbing at her cheeks. **

**"****She nearly killed him!" Abhoeil glared at the bartender, but he glared back. **

**"****She also saved his life. And looks to be a rather permanent fixture in it, once their…disagreement is resolved." His mouth quirked into a small smile. "And I do not care to watch you sulk for the next thousand years." **

** "****A pleasure to finally meet you, Sarah." Finnbarrah, beloved of Abhoeil, reached out to shake her limp hand. When she instinctively held out the soggy handkerchief, he shook his head. **

** "****Keep it, my dear." He paused. "I think Sarah has had quite enough for one evening. We will see you again, I believe, very soon." He nodded at her congenially, and then something in his expression sharpened. "If you hurt him again, you will not be forgiven."**

**And then the bar faded into her dingy hotel room, and Sarah was alone. **


End file.
